Joy Ride
by Lady Grissecon
Summary: Oliver doesn't want detention, and Percy wants Oliver. OW/PW one-shot.


**A/N: **I was given a dare to write a one-shot for this pairing like a year ago, but I could never come up with a good idea to write it. So I'm sitting home alone, lurking, and suddenly the idea pops into my head. Better late than never, right?

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, Harry would not have a kid named Albus Severus. cringes

**Warning: **This story contains slash. If you don't like it, just click the little back button and read something else.

**Joy Ride**

**  
**There was no light to brighten the damp grass of the Quidditch field, other than that of the full moon, shining high above and surrounded by glistening stars. The storm, which had been pounding on relentlessly for hours, finally let up, and the results were nothing less than spectacular.

The grass on the field twinkled with droplets of rain, and the trees swayed slightly and droplets flew off their leaves when the wind blew. There was an occasional rustle from the edge of the forest as an unseen animal scampered by, camouflaged by darkness, but other than that all was completely tranquil. A silence fell over the grounds of Hogwarts so still you could hear each drop of water as it plunked softly into the lake, courtesy of its surrounding trees.

There was one figure who dared to disturb the mighty castle's rest. It was a young man, walking with tired though purposeful strides, his broomstick slung over one shoulder, so that the bristles created funky patterns on the ground as he walked. This young man was nervous, for he was out far past curfew, and was desperate to make it inside without being seen.

Oliver Wood, for that is what the young man was called, just couldn't resist going outside and racing through the rain on his treasured Nimbus. He'd always loved flying in the rain—it presented the illusion of freedom, a privilege Oliver felt deprived of lately. There was so much responsibility on his shoulders, as Captain of the Quidditch team, and somehow he felt as though the joy of flight had been lost in the midst of strategies and diagrams.

He felt much better now, however, and though he was exhausted, he couldn't help but hold up his head. There was nothing about flying for the pure joy of it, nothing, and it had only taken one loop around the pitch for him to remember that.

And so, it was with a heavy heart that Oliver walked up the stone steps to Hogwarts Castle and pushed open the doors. His boots made gross sloshing sounds as he tracked in mud from the outside, and he got a sort of vindictive pleasure out of imagining the look on Filch's face when he discovered it. He did not, however, expect to run into anyone on his way back up to Gryffindor tower, though he did, and quite literally.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked a very disgruntled Percy Weasley, wiping the rain from his shirt, which had transferred from Oliver's robes when the latter had collided into him. He wiped an invisible smudge from his prefect's badge with his sleeve and looked at Oliver expectantly.

"I'm going up to bed," said Oliver, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Silently he was cursing himself for running into Percy—he should have remembered the big-headed lout would be doing rounds tonight.

"Don't get sarcastic with me, Wood, you know what I mean," Percy snapped, rolling his eyes. "You know very well it's past curfew and you should be in bed, not tracking in mud from _outside_."

Oliver ran a hand through his still-damp hair and looked sheepish. He didn't want to admit to what he'd been doing—he could just imagine Percy's response—but it was a little hard not to, after his counterpart took in his disheveled appearance, Quidditch gloves, and the tell-tale broom slung over his shoulder.

"What were you doing out in the rain, Oliver?" Percy asked. Oliver thought he detected a note of curiosity hidden beneath his "I know everything" prefect voice, and the sudden use of his first name did not escape him.

"I was flying, obviously," said Oliver, adjusting the Nimbus more securely on his shoulder. He was trying to stall, and maybe think of a way to get out of detention. He knew Percy was not above sentencing his own house-mates in the name of the rules.

"Yes, as Quidditch Captain, time for flying must be so hard to come by," Percy said sardonically. Oliver cringed a little, and though Percy seemed to notice, he failed to comment on it. "I should give you detention for your obvious ignorance of the school rules."

Oliver looked exasperated. "Oh, come _on_, Percy! It was just a little joy ride around the pitch, what harm could that possibly have done?" He really didn't want detention, especially after the pep talk McGonagall had just given the team about discipline yesterday. It might cost him his captaincy.

Percy threw his arms in the air angrily. "What do you mean, what harm could it have done?" he asked angrily, his brown eyes flaring behind his glasses. "You-Know-Who is out there somewhere, and he could have gotten you, you idiot!"

Oliver hardly had time to register what Percy had said before the latter had thrown him against the wall, knocking his broom to the floor with a loud clatter. He held Oliver's hands above his head and pressed their bodies close, rendering him incapable of movement.

"What're you doing?" Oliver asked, appalled. He would have liked to be angry, but the way Percy's body felt so close to him was distracting him from feeling much of anything.

"What I should have done ages ago," Percy whispered in answer, and he pressed his mouth hard against Oliver's in a searing kiss.

For a moment all Oliver could do was stand motionless in shock, but before long Percy pressed his tongue against his sealed lips and Oliver responded instinctively, invitingly, and was lost in the warm sensations of Percy's mouth.

He'd never imagined what kissing Percy Weasley might feel like, but if he had, he doubted it would have been anything like this. His eyes fluttered closed and he pressed closer, a fluttery feeling erupting inside him, telling him against all reason that this was where he was supposed to be.

He slipped his hands from Percy's slackened grip and slid them under the back of his shirt, and Percy's skin was like fire under his fingers. Percy whimpered quietly, cupping Oliver's face with his hands, and pressed their bodies closer. Oliver raked his nails against the skin of the other boy's back, wanting more; wanting them to simply melt together and stay there, forever.

Slowly Percy pulled out of the kiss and ended it with a softer, gentler one. His eyes were questioning, and his cheeks were flushed the color of his hair. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he muttered, looking down as though ashamed or embarrassed.

Oliver was confused, and he wanted desperately to know how long this had been going on, but for now all he could say was what felt right, what he knew he wanted, regardless of the consequences: "Don't stop."

And Percy didn't.


End file.
